Sorry, folks, I’m still in code brain. Shaddap, Knudsey.
I go home after the UFO Experience and settle in for some good, clean fun, lounging in a bubble bath. All the soreness and work dirt has gone with the bathwater, down the drain.

All dolled up in fluffy bathrobe and towel head, I find a similar, going down the drain, spiral feeling in my head. It is irresistable. I must lie down.

The lie down eases the vertigo brought about by the spiralling of consciousness. I’m not asleep, but am powerless to move.

I become aware of something just behind my head, the head which I cannot turn. I feel it, but cannot see it. It feels like me. How odd this is!

I am drawn into the point of consciousness behind and above my head. I am able to see my fluffy-robed body, which is breathing and perceiving me, perceiving it.

I have no fear. There is only wonder. I experience all of the knowledge there is in that tiny moment. I am agape.

This point of consciousness is all of me, but so much more. It knows that all are one, because it is one with all. It sings my soul’s note, and the harmonies of the universe. All is music.

The music is love. Love is the glue that holds the universe together. God is love. It is so much. It is so much.

I ease into more of an awareness of my fluffy-robed self as the point of consciousness recedes. I have experienced what I will soon call a “remembering”. There will be more of them.

Here’s another post about a year old, when only Knudsey and a few others were reading my blog. I’m still deep in code brain, hope I can finish that up today. Meanwhile…

I saw on the news a story about a presidential candidate who
had a UFO encounter.
I expect he will receive a great deal of ridicule.
I know. I had one too.
Nobody scoffed at me to my face. Oh wait.
I hardly told anyone about it.
Except a television audience, but again, no scoffing unless
they were shouting at their tellies. I couldn’t hear it.

This was an amazing experience, and I would like to tell
you about it.

I’m in my hard hat, with my road crew.
It’s 5:30 am. Early, no wind yet on the water.
All is still, and quiet. Dark. No cloud cover.
Any sound carries for miles over the water, but there
is no sound, not even the waves. All is still.
We notice in the sky, a large round orange light, with
a halo effect around it.
We watch it move, it moves oddly, like no aircraft we know.
We look at one another as if to say “Did you see that?”
“Is this what I am really seeing?”
We say nothing. Nada.
We look, entranced, as it executes impossible maneuvers.
It makes no sound, no, not any. We would notice, sound
carries over the water. The very still water.
After about five minutes, it descends on a nearby island,
diappearing into the treeline.
Another ten minutes, and it reappears.
We watch in awe.
This is a spiritual experience. I feel something
awakening within me, but I don’t know what, only
that it is something bigger than all of us.
When it finally disappears, we look at each other again.
Again, we say nothing.
We go back to work.
For the remaining six months I work on this crew, nobody
mentions it. Not one word.
Not long after this incident, I begin to have strange
experiences at home.
I believe they were connected.
That is a story for another day.

I’m kind of in a different head space right now, and for those ten of you who weren’t with me when I started blogging in November 2007, Jenny has suggested that some of the oldies might be worth reading. I hope you think so, too.

Well, it didn’t go all “witchypoo, witchypoo” because crows?

They don’t talk like that.

No, this crow, this crow Came. Just. For. Me. That’s how dramatic it was, with a capital letter full stop each word.

Scenario: Bus stop. Two people plus one average, everyday, witchypoo.

Minding our own bidness, because that is how to best get along at a bus stop.

No asking them what they bought at the nearby liquor store because they might think you are getting all judgmental on them.

Or hoping they will share. Neither of which makes friends, but could cause bodily harm. Not all the people that wait at a bus stop near a liquor store are nice people.

But you know, I really wanted to ask them.

My filters are much better now. I know things.

Crow is waiting on the lamp standard while all of this goes through my tiny little brain.

I feel a touch on my head.

Crow has nudged me with his wing. Hair molesting crow.

Crow lights on the pavement directly in front of me.

The other two move away from me.

It could be because I start to talk to crow. “Well hello, crow. What do you want of me?” It had to be English. I don’t talk crow, except for “caw, caw”, and then crow would think I was making fun of him. Crow hopped sideways a few times, because crow doesn’t want you to know exactly what it is doing.

If you don’t believe me, just watch crow around food.

Crow lands near food, cocks his head, as if to say “Well, looky, here! Food! Lucky me!” then hops nonchalantly over to the food.

That’s how crow rolls.

Crow cocks his head, looks at me right saucy it does, and does the same thing on the other side of its head.

The other two people at the bus stop are nervously and longingly fingering their liquor store purchases.

Crow does an elaborate crow dance, interspersed with many right saucy crow looks. I knew that somebody had died. I knew it.

They had sent crow so they could say goodbye to me. “Thank you for your message, crow.”

I say this out loud, in front of those potentially dangerous, liquor store- shopping bus stop people.

Only now, they think I am the dangerous one.

Why? Not only did I talk to crow, but they saw the crow dance, the crow dance meant especially for me.

Also? They knew it was for me. I saw the looks.

I get on the bus with that sick, dread feeling in the tummy. I start to make my phone calls when I get home. Grammie is 95. She answers the phone. Whew. I go through a list of possibles, leaving the call to The Papa for last.

Why? The Papa has been very ill; I don’t talk to him much, since he considers me a Tool of Satan and all.

I confess that I’m a tad obsessive when it comes to code. I have two projects on the go right now that involve code. One is the test for the ongoing website developer position, the other is a one-time client.

I just can’t wrap my head around a blog post today.

Does that make me a bad person?

This is the last month for voting in the Blogger’s Choice awards. I wouldn’t mind having that puppy on my sidebar.

Oh! And looking outside? There’s a mighty wind a blowing. Did Ike get here that fast?

I should clarify right off the bat that I am not a witch. The nickname witchypoo was given to me by Mildly Amusing OCD Stepmother. She likes to think she’s a comedienne. There was a kid’s show called H.R.Pufnstuf in the late sixties, and witchypoo was a character on the show. She’s a stunner, isn’t she?

And also? There were a whole lot of witchypoos on my image search. All of them cuter than this one.

But I digress.

Sexual magic. It is said that with the intense spiritual connection that occurs during sex, the energy can be used for spell-like things. Well, I can hardly type, let alone spell, but that didn’t stop me from having a little fun with a gullible boyfriend.

I kept a tiny container, about the diameter of a silver dollar on my dresser, and every time after an intimate encounter with the gullible boyfriend, I would collect the lint from his bellybutton, and place it in the container, and chirp: “sexual magic!”

Yes, I am that immature.

He was very afeared, but he dared not touch the container. He suspected terrible things would happen if he did.

When we broke up, he was very anxious to know what I did with the bellybutton lint.

I told him that I wrote the following on a piece of paper:

“Whatever you wish for me, will come to you threefold, and immediately.”

Then I told him that I wrapped the lint up in the piece of paper and burnt the two of them, no doubt chanting or singing “I’m a little teapot.”

The power of suggestion must be a mighty force, because the very next day, he lost his job, and shortly after that, he had to sell his truck.